


Romance of Their Own

by fallingforcas



Series: Husband's n' shit [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Cutesy, Drabble Collection, Even More Fluff, Fluff, Husbands, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mickey is a sweetheart really, Romance, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingforcas/pseuds/fallingforcas
Summary: #103 "I know this isn't very romantic, but..."Mickey surprises Ian with his romantic side.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Husband's n' shit [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643434
Comments: 3
Kudos: 196





	Romance of Their Own

Ian slams the door shut behind him with a tired sigh. Working a full week without a break had really been taking its toll on him. He kicks off his shoes, chucking them into the slowly developing pile in the hallway. He’d clean them up tomorrow. In fact, he’d clean the whole apartment considering Mickey didn’t know what a laundry basket was used for. The apartment was a muddle of dirty clothes, unlimited amounts of empty beer bottles, and empty takeaway boxes. Ian pushed away the tinge of motivation to clean the shit out of the place; he was way too tired to be picking up Mickey’s dirty socks. 

Hanging his jacket onto its hook, Ian calls out drowsily, “Hey, I’m home!” 

Hit with silence, and a few small bangs and suspicious shuffling, Ian squints confusedly. If he had remembered correctly, Mickey didn’t have work that day. He had called at lunch time insisting Ian had to be home on time, yet Ian was faced with an empty apartment and questionable noises. 

“Mick, you here?” Ian calls out once more. 

Ian’s words are followed by more thuds and a raucous “shit!” coming from his and Mickey’s bedroom. Standing in the middle of the living room, Ian thinks twice about hollering out again. Something wary was going on and he’d be a total idiot to ignore it. 

In a swift moment, Ian strolls towards the strange noises, attempting to turn the handle to the bedroom. It’s locked. Yet another unusual occurrence. Mickey and Ian never locked their door unless they were intent on fucking whilst they had guests. It was more than strange for it to be locked when Ian had just stepped through the door. 

Turning the handle harder, jolting it, Ian calls out, “Mick? Why the fuck is our door locked?” 

Finally, Ian hears his husbands muffled voice echo from behind the door. “Uh, I don’t know. Try it again, fuckin’ things always breaking.” 

Mickey’s shaky stuttering words made Ian’s suspicions worsen. “What the fuck is going on, Mick?” 

Ian had no doubts that Mickey was faithful, and totally committed to him, that’s why he felt a sudden tinge of guilt when the thought crossed his mind. Was Mickey hiding something in there? Or _someone_? No, that wasn’t it. Mickey would never hurt him like that. Not after everything they had been through together. This was something else. Something strange, yes, but not that. 

Ian’s is, yet again, shot with no response. He knew how to get Mickey’s attention, “You hiding someone in there? Open the fuck up.” 

Suddenly, Ian hears stomping, Mickey’s _what the fuck did you just say_ kind of stomping. He waits patiently for his husband to show himself, noticing the sound of the door unlocking. Mickey pulls the door slightly ajar, his head poking out. 

Ian attempts to examine the surroundings behind Mickey, but like usual his _fat fucking head_ was in the way. Mickey spits out his words, as if he had been caught doing something totally illegal, “Fuck you, Gallagher. Thanks for the little faith.” 

Squinting his eyes, Ian places his hand on the door, “What you hidin, then?” 

The blood drains from Mickey’s face. Gathering himself, Mickey answers calmly, giving Ian no inkling into what was going on. “Aint hiding shit, Gallagher. Mind your own goddamn business.” 

Ian loses his patience, using his strength, or what remained of it, to attempt to push the door fully open. “Mick—” he pushes harder, faced with Mickey’s determined efforts to hide whatever was behind him. Grunting loudly, Ian uses his shoulder to apply more force. “Would you--- fucking. Jesus Christ, just open the door, Mickey.” 

Mickey wins this time against Ian’s tired arms, keeping the door open wide enough for his ascertained expression to poke out of it. Mickey was definitely hiding something. Ian only knew that look from Mickey’s demanding efforts to suppress something, something big. Ian was confused, exhausted, and in desperate need to sprawl across the sheets. Maybe with Mickey, if Mickey wasn’t acting like such an ass right now. 

Rubbing his knuckle at the tip of his chin, Mickey speaks lowly, “Just give me five minutes, aright.” 

Ian tilts his head, “What is happening?” 

“Just,” Mickey breathes, sounding as tired as Ian felt, “watch some of that gay shit you fucking love, or grab one of your pansy beers. Just give me five fucking minutes.” 

Why did Mickey _need_ five minutes? What could possibly take _five_ minutes? Ian couldn’t guess for shit, but he was way too fatigued to argue, or attempt to fight against Mickey’s aggressive pleas, so he opts for the pansy alcohol-free beers that he had bought the night before. 

“Jesus, fine.” Ian holds his hands up in surrender. 

Mickey slams the door shut, sending a swift breeze into Ian’s perplexed expression. Mickey was obviously in one of his classic moods and Ian didn’t have the potency to challenge it. He steps over towards the kitchen, threading a hand through his wind-swept hair. As he passes the couch, he hollers out, “Your grumpy ass wants any food? Think there’s some left-over pizza?!” 

Just as before, Mickey pokes his head back out of the bedroom door, “Don’t even _think_ about touching that pizza, Gallagher.” 

Before Ian can turn, a glaring scowl in response, Mickey was slamming the door shut again. 

Slapping his hands against his legs in total annoyance, Ian screams out, “So, you’re making me fuckin’ starve too? As-well as depriving me from sleep?!” He pops the cap off his beer angrily, shooting his yells of frustration to the door. “You’d think I was still in prison.” 

As Ian downs half of his beer, deeply wishing it held the side effects of real beer to get through these awful, mind-boggling minutes of his life, Mickey swiftly slips from behind the bedroom door, gently shutting it behind him. Ian shakes his head, storming towards Mickey – who was surprisingly looking a little flustered and awkwardly bobbing on his feet. 

Mickey pushes at his chest, causing him to step backwards, to his utter annoyance. Ian moans loudly, unimpressed, “Get the fuck out the way, Mick.” 

With a scowl, Mickey shoves him again, “That how you speak to people who are trying do something nice for you? Fuck me for actually giving a shit.” 

Ian huffs a laugh, waving his hands around, “Locking me out of my own bedroom? Yeah that’s real nice of you, Mick.” He blows a kiss, “totally worth my admiration.” 

Ian knows he’s being a total ass, but Mickey was being one too. How could Mickey honestly believe that this weird behaviour was worth his appreciation.

Mickey mocks Ian’s voice, “ _that’s real nice of you, Mick_ ,” he huffs out in exasperation, his eyes falling towards the ground. “If you stop acting like such a whiny bitch and fucking listen to me then you’d actually know what the hell I’m talking about.” 

Ian rolls his eyes, arms crossed, “Tell me, then.” 

It takes Mickey a second to pull himself together. Ian begins to smirk as he witnesses Mickey crumbling with shyness before him. Mickey never got like this and it only made Ian more intrigued. Mickey had never been a made of words, not until recently, and Ian allowed Mickey the time to gather some up. 

“So,” Mickey starts, avoiding looking directly at Ian, “I know you’re into to all that Valentine’s day shit--- flowers, hearts and fucking stuffed bears, like some fucking weirdo.” Ian nods, encouraging him to continue. He didn’t know where Mickey was going with this. Mickey shifts, his hands finding his hips, “So, I kinda—I wanted to—” 

Ian steps closer, grinning in amusement, “You bought me a teddy-bear?” 

“You fucking wish.” Mickey catches his gaze, eyebrows frowning. “Anyway, you know I think it’s a bullshit holiday --- like what a fucking waste of cash, right? – but I know you love the shit out it, and I wanted to—” 

Ian can sense Mickey’s struggling to explain himself. Whatever was behind that door was within Mickey’s words. Valentines day wasn’t a biggie to either of them – well, not to Mickey, anyway – and they hardly celebrated anniversaries that much so it was confusing why Mickey would bring that shit up, especially when the holiday had passed over a week ago. Ian brushes past Mickey, giving him a reassuring glance of _its okay_ and pushes the door open. 

Behind the door that had previously separated them both, was something Ian would have never expected to see. There were candles, literally _everywhere_ , lighting up the room, slashing a mixture of ambers and light oranges throughout the space. Spread across the bed were a couple of boxes, all branding Ian’s favourite fast-food logo across them. Next to the food sat a crate of beers – surprisingly the pansy beers that Mickey had moaned about non-stop. Ian’s breath hitches at his throat, his mind trying to process the planned-out image before him. The tv had been moved to the foot of the bed, and Mickey had placed blankets there too – the fluffy blanket that Ian usually cuddled when Mickey was working late. Ian couldn’t accept the scene before him, or that this was what Mickey had been hiding, or creating for him. Mickey had done all of this. 

Ian lets out a breath, eyes watering a little, “You did all of this—” 

Mickey’s suddenly behind him, shyly biting at his lip. “I know this isn’t very romantic, or whatever, but---” 

Ian rushes over to Mickey, passionately pressing his lips onto his. Mickey was a sweetheart underneath the tough-guy bravado and Ian couldn’t help but fall even deeper. Mickey jerks at the kiss before he naturally slips into it, his hands curling around Ian’s back. 

Pulling back for a moment, their faces close, their eyes in a yearning stare, Ian speaks with utter devotion, “It’s romantic enough for me.” 

Mickey’s face lights up in a bashful smile, fingers playing with Ian’s tussled shirt. “You’re a fuckin’ sap.” 

Ian hums, his hand reaching up to play with Mickey’s hair, “Says the guy who literally filled our bedroom with candles and shit.” 

“Definitely need to blow those fuckers out before we bang.” 

Raising a brow, playfully, Ian chuckles, “Sex on the first date? You’re ambitious.” 

Mickey shoves him softly towards the bed, his tone playful, “Shut the fuck, Gallagher. Eat your goddamn noodles.” 


End file.
